Dad! Please Stop Getting Promoted, Our Family Are Really Treacherous Officials! Chapter 445

Inside the study, Xu Youde carefully folded the letter from his precious daughter, creasing it neatly.

Together with the envelope, he tucked it into the innermost pocket of his undergarment, then patted his chest with his hand.

Xu Youde did not mind the strange smell of aged vinegar mixed with moldy cabbage stalks still lingering in the study. He hummed a cheerful little tune.

From a secret compartment beneath the desk, he pulled out a blue-and-white porcelain wine jug. Pouring into a chipped white ceramic cup, he filled it with a cup of aged Fenjiu liquor.

His second son had shattered twenty armored Iron Pagoda cavalrymen with a single hand!

Just running that image through his mind once was enough to make Xu Youde feel a fire burning in his chest.

"That rascal—usually as quiet as a gourd—but when it comes to hitting, he’s merciless!" Old Xu smacked his lips and downed the cup in one gulp, puffing from the harsh burn. "Twenty barbarians wrapped in iron shells, men and horses together—how much strength did that take? That kid used to not even dare kill a chicken. Went to Zhenbei Pass and dragged back all the martial virtue our ancestors left behind!"

He stroked the few sparse goat-beard hairs on his chin. The ruddy glow on his face flickered in the lamplight.

Back then, when Xu Zhan was framed and had his arm broken, Xu Youde never spoke of it. But in his heart, it hurt like a knife carving out a piece of him. He wished he could have suffered that torment in his son’s place.

Now, the bitterness was finally released. Not just relieved—they’d won a monumental military merit. The Xu family’s ancestral graves must be smoking with divine blessing.

With such military honor on their backs, even if all the civil and military officials in court lined up to impeach the Xus, the Emperor would have to pinch his nose and protect them.

After three straight cups, that wild excitement finally settled a little.

Xu Youde set down the cup, the smile on his face gradually fading.

Outside the study, the night watchman’s drum struck the third hour. The dull sound drifted through the window crack on the night wind.

Old Xu listened to the drumbeat and let out a heavy sigh. He raised a hand to pat his slightly fleshy cheeks and muttered to bolster himself: "Old Xu, Old Xu, you can’t get carried away."

"Your daughter is up north, scheming with her life on the line against the Helian people. Your second son is charging into battle with an iron club at the front. Your eldest, Wuyou, is butting heads with those bloodthirsty ruffians of the Cao Gang at the docks. The whole family is taking risks, and you’re the only one enjoying the comforts in the capital. If you, the father, screw up, would you even count as human?"

He stood up. Driven by the wine, he paced back and forth in the study with his hands behind his back.

"When I think about it, three generations of the Xu family have been loyal. Sure, by my generation, I’ve been a little greedy for money. But I’m absolutely loyal—heart and soul—to the Emperor as a solitary minister. Now that my daughter has finally breathed life into this dead chess game, I, as her father, must guard the home base in the capital with my life. I can’t let it slip through my own hands."

As he spoke, he stopped in his tracks.

Xu Youde’s brows twisted into a knot. Against his will, a figure rose unbidden in his mind.

A man in a first-rank vermilion official robe, his long beard perfectly groomed. He smiled at everyone he met, radiating benevolence and compassion.

Shang Qitai, Minister of Revenue.

The moment that name came to mind, Xu Youde felt his teeth ache. It was worse than swallowing that piece of dried pickled cabbage from the northern frontier.

That old fox was a knife hanging over the Xu family—a dull, deadly slow blade.

Xu Youde went back to the desk and sat down again. All the wine he had drunk turned into cold sweat, seeping through the fabric of his back.

He picked up the empty cup and clutched it in his hand, replaying this morning’s court session over and over in his mind.

Today’s morning court started peacefully enough. For the longest part, everyone bickered over trivial matters.

But just as court was about to adjourn, an official from the Ministry of War suddenly stepped forward from the ranks.

In his hand, he held a thick memorial. He proclaimed that the central and western route armies of the northern frontier were running out of military grain. The soldiers at the front were about to have their cooking fires go out.

"Your Majesty, the campaign in the north is critical. After continuous fierce battles, our stored grain is depleted. We beseech an emergency transfer of three hundred thousand piculs from this year’s grain tribute by canal to serve as military grain for the north. Transport it by night along the waterways to relieve this burning crisis!"

That Ministry of War official wailed with such tears and emotion that it made one’s heart tremble.

At the time, the Emperor on his dragon throne neither approved nor dismissed it. He just lifted his eyes, glanced at Shang Qitai standing in the front row, and asked lightly.

"Minister Shang, regarding the allocation of funds and grain from the Ministry of Revenue—are there any difficulties?"

And how had Shang Qitai responded?

Xu Youde closed his eyes, recalling Shang Qitai’s expression of deep concern for the nation. He even imitated the man’s tone in his thoughts.

"Your Majesty, the soldiers of the north are drenched in blood, defending our homeland. I, your humble servant, will scrape together funds even if it means smashing the pots and selling the iron. I will not fail to raise this military grain."

"The Ministry of Revenue has no complaints. We can draft the regulations immediately and dispatch the ships. This will not delay the front’s opportunity in battle. Even if it takes me personally hauling the tow ropes, these three hundred thousand piculs of grain must be delivered!"

Shang Qitai’s words were airtight, almost carrying a tragic sense of putting the bigger picture first.

All the civil and military officials praised Lord Shang for his noble integrity. Even the Emperor nodded in satisfaction and approved the memorial on the spot.

Xu Youde had followed the crowd in shouting "Long live His Majesty’s wisdom." He thought it was a perfectly ordinary matter. The front needed grain, the rear sent grain—it was only natural.

But now, sitting alone deep in the night and carefully mulling it over, the more he considered it, the more something felt wrong.

What kind of man was Shang Qitai? He was like a pixiu—a mythical beast that only devours, never excretes. When the Ministry of War asked for money or grain, if the Ministry of Revenue had to hand over a single tael of silver, he would find an excuse to drag it out for ten days or half a month. Why was he so eager today to approve the direct release of three hundred thousand piculs of tribute grain?

Had the old bastard changed his stripes? Absolutely impossible.

Xu Youde suddenly drew a sharp breath of cold air.

Grain tribute scheduling—this was a major business that, once set in motion, affected the whole network.

Those three hundred thousand piculs of grain, hauled out of the granaries south of the Yangtze, had to pass through dozens of wharves, go through over a dozen lock gates, and be shuttled by hundreds of boats before they could reach the northern frontier.

Along the way: hiring porters, swapping to flat-bottomed boats, accounting for rations and fodder expenses—every link required silver to fund it.

Who controlled all this? The Ministry of Revenue.

And the head of the Ministry of Revenue was Shang Qitai.

Which waterways would the military grain take? How to calculate the water loss and rat damage along the way? It all depended on a single word from Shang Qitai.

And besides... the task the Emperor had given him was to raise funds!

So naturally, he would have to deploy some tricks.

Xu Youde’s fingers tapped absently on the desktop.

Then a message sent to the mansion by his eldest son, Xu Wuyou, a few days earlier popped into his head.

That reckless brat Wuyou, leading the men of Shui Cheng Hall, had snatched a fragmentary account book from the brazier of Huitong Silver Exchange.

In it was plainly recorded: the Tongji Canal Association, which controlled the waterways around the capital, delivered an annual "New Year’s tribute" of eighty thousand taels of silver to the Shang household.

Xu Youde felt through his clothes for the several gold ingots in his pocket. Suddenly, they seemed like beggar’s copper coins compared to that sum.

Three hundred thousand piculs of tribute grain.

Shang Qitai.

The Tongji Canal Association.

"What a massive net..." Xu Youde murmured to himself, his face turning extremely ugly.

These three hundred thousand stone of grain meant for military supplies would definitely not be handed over to the Ministry of War for transport. According to the Ministry of Revenue's rules, it would certainly be contracted out through official-merchant channels to the Tongji Canal Shipping Association.

Shang Qitai was openly handing this batch of life-saving military grain over to his own personal money pouch and enforcer squad.

If the grain made it smoothly to the northern frontier, Shang Qitai would merely skim some handling fees, falsely report tens of thousands in transport costs—at worst, it would be embezzlement and bribery.

Or it could be even simpler: the rate of losses along the way could be absurdly high.

On the books, three hundred thousand stone would be shipped, but once weighed at the northern frontier, only one hundred thousand stone of sand-mixed, stale grain would remain. In the end, the blame would be shifted onto the porters and boatmen doing the labor, citing floods south of the Yangtze delaying the journey, and a few unlucky scapegoats would be killed to take the fall.

This alone could lead to soldiers starving at the front and battles being lost.

Under the Great Qian military code, delays or shortages in frontline grain supplies were crimes punishable by the extermination of nine generations and beheading!

This enormous black cauldron—who would be left holding it?

The Emperor wouldn't be wrong. The Ministry of War's demands for grain weren't wrong. Killing a few downtrodden laborers with no real gains to show for it wouldn't quell the Emperor's wrath.

Naturally, it would be the Ministry of Revenue officials handling the finances and logistics who'd take the hit.

Shang Qitai was the Minister of Revenue. He'd surely clean his hands in advance, extricating himself completely.

By then, he'd only need to put on a show of anguish, submit a self-criticizing memorial...

And among the Ministry of Revenue, who would remain as the biggest fish? Or rather, which eyesore of a banner would be left?

Xu Youde slapped his own thigh heavily, wincing from the pain, the veins on his forehead bulging.

"It's me! I'm the fall guy!" he howled miserably.

If this played out, the Xu family would lose in this storm.

He, Xu Youde, was the Emperor's blade, and Shang Qitai planned to use this military grain case as the huge black cauldron to smelt that blade down!

Xu Youde could no longer sit still.

"Old fox! Poisonous snake! Son-less... bastard! Plays the charitable saint, but his guts are filled with sleazy scheming!"

He paced as he cursed, hurling every filthy insult from the market streets he could think of at Shang Qitai.

"Father, do not worry..." Xu Youde muttered those four words, his eyelids twitching violently as he let out a laugh uglier than crying. "That damned girl of mine, she's schemed against everyone up north, patted her ass and left a 'do not worry'—but your old father here is being strangled by a noose around his neck!"

Old Xu understood the situation all too well.

The Xu family had long been walking a tightrope at the edge of a cliff—one step back meant an abyss, one step forward meant a hill of swords and a sea of flames.

The murky depths of the capital could dissolve a man's bones. Without his daughter by his side to strategize, he had to wade through it all with these old bones of his.

He reached into his bosom, pulled out a few gold ingots, and laid them on the table.

This gleaming golden light had once been his favorite sight in the world, the best remedy to soothe him. But now, lying on the wood, those ingots only seemed blindingly garish.

"Retirement savings, my retirement savings. I guess I, Old Xu, was never meant to lie back and enjoy life."

Xu Youde wore a bitter expression.

Gradually, his breathing steadied. The shrewdness of a merchant and the cunning of a cornered politician slowly overshadowed his fear.

Trying to trick me? Just manipulating the grain shipments?

Our Xu family, heavens help the virtuous!

Just then, the study door let out the faintest creak.

The steward, Xu Fu, entered carrying a rosewood tray laden with a steaming bowl of rock sugar lotus seed soup, carefully pushing the door open.

"Lord Count, it's late. The kitchen has prepared some—"

Xu Fu's words got stuck halfway in his throat.

He saw his lord's hair a mess, his expression utterly bizarre.

One moment, he grinned like he'd found a bargain, and the next, he frowned as if he'd just buried his own mother.

Xu Fu had served the household long enough to read Xu Youde's moods well.